


Waters of Oblivion

by zarahjoyce



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Grim Reapers, Inspired by Goblin (Kdrama), Reincarnation, and those they love, lord idek, other characters to be added - Freeform, watch it you guys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 10:03:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19391836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zarahjoyce/pseuds/zarahjoyce
Summary: It's always the same way, he thinks. How people are hit with sudden remembrance. How theylookwhen they remember. Their eyes widen and their mouths hang open, and for a second they cannot breathe - as though their bodies have already forgottenhow."Am I--?""Dead?" he supplies, crossing his arms, feeling oddly happy about bearing the news, for once. "What do you think?"





	Waters of Oblivion

He stirs the tea calmly, not yet bothering to explain his appearance or purpose - for soon enough, he will.  
  
Behind him, he knows that his newest client is looking around what appears to be a dark, dingy room, lit only with candles haphazardly scattered about. One can almost say they're in a dungeon, what with how cold and uncomfortable it is.   
  
However, one can say they are well beyond things like _cold_ and _uncomfortable_ by now.  
  
"Where am I?" his client asks, sounding impossibly young yet haughty at the same time. A testament to how he's lived, he thinks. "Who-- who the hell are you?"  
  
He sighs. This is the part of the job that he loathes for it always involves _speaking_ , and honestly he'll prefer it if he just. _Doesn't_. He's been saying the same line for over eight hundred years after all, with some omissions or revisions depending on the client.   
  
Depending on whether they deserved to be soothed - or scorned.  
  
"Didn't you hear me? Are you an idiot? I'm _talking_ to--"  
  
He turns, glares at him. "I _heard_ you, Joffrey Baratheon."  
  
His client - _Joffrey Baratheon_ \- turns an interesting shade of puce. "How-- how _dare_ you call me by that name! I am a _Lannister_ , and you should know to--"  
  
He sets the tea before Joffrey Baratheon so hard the liquid inside it sloshes, spilling somewhat on its sides. "Your name doesn't matter here. _Nothing_ of yours matter here. You may think you're powerful where you're from, but to where you're going? I am glad to tell you that you _won't_ be."  
  
"What are you--"  
  
It's always the same way, he thinks. How people are hit with sudden remembrance. How they _look_ when they remember. Their eyes widen and their mouths hang open, and for a second they cannot breathe - as though their bodies have already forgotten _how_.  
  
"Am I--?"  
  
"Dead?" he supplies, crossing his arms, feeling oddly _happy_ about bearing the news, for once. "What do you think?"  
  
Joffrey Baratheon tugs at his collar, looking more and more panicked as time went by. "I shouldn't-- I can't be--"

He stares at Joffrey Baratheon quietly.   
  
Calmly.   
  
Almost savoring the frantic anxiety now wrapping the boy.  
  
It's a nasty death, poison. The way it spreads down one's throat, seeping through one's veins until their blood's choking with it. Until their lungs _spasm_ in a frenzied rate, and they gasp with difficulty for their next breath.  
  
Until their heart convulses, and ceases, and then--  
  
"It's... it's that _bitch_ ," Joffrey says, looking more and more harried by the second. "Or my uncle. Or-- or-- others who want me dead and--"  
  
He surges to his feet and points. "You have to do something about this! I _can't_ be dead yet!"  
  
"It's too late," he states. "Your time has come."  
  
_Joffrey Baratheon_  
_14 September 1992_  
  
"But I--" Swallowing hard, he looks around them for a way out - though _of course_ Joffrey Baratheon will find none.  
  
Feigning being helpful, he then gestures at the tea and says, "It will help you - if you drink it."  
  
Sometimes he thinks not all of his clients deserve to drink the tea of oblivion.   
  
Especially if they are the likes of _Joffrey Baratheon._  
  
And yet _all_ are given the opportunity to forget, regardless of how they've lived their lives. It's as if the gods have decided to be merciful at the very last moment.  
  
Unless--  
  
As expected, Joffrey Baratheon swipes the tea off the table, its cup shattering upon impact as it meets the hard floor. "If you fucking think I'm going to drink anything you've given me I--"  
  
Big mistake.  
  
The door to their right opens. To him it is simply a pathway leading someplace else, but what his clients see behind it will _always_ be different. It can be a friendly face beckoning, a loved one calling, or, in Joffrey Baratheon's case--  
  
The way his face contorts in abject and naked fear tells him _all_ he needed to know about what awaits the boy on the other side.  
  
"P-Please!" he cries, even as his legs carry him towards the door. Towards his end. "I didn't mean to! Please! _Please! No!_ "   
  
His shouts fill the room; kicking and screaming he fights the inevitable - as if he could. Then the door closes, all on its own, and _Joffrey Baratheon_ is no more.   
  
The first few seconds after the client's departure will _always_ be disconcerting, he thinks. How his room is filled with life one moment, and empty and solemn the next.  
  
There is little to do now, however. The shattered cup on his feet has already righted itself, awaiting the next soul it will serve.   
  
He straightens himself, looks around him to see that he hasn't forgotten anything - and leaves.  
  
His next appointment is with a bus full of children - and part of his job, as a Grim Reaper, is to oversee that those meant to die _will_.

 _52 children._  
  
He grimaces.  
  
Already he's dreading how he will handle all of _them_ at the same time.

**Author's Note:**

> The GoT/Goblin mashup that nobody asked for yet here we are I guess


End file.
